Tales of the unexpected

Saucy


This saucer always makes me smile. It was made in recent years by Spode. The design is as old as the hills, from what I have garnered from the Antiques Roadshow it is typical of Chinese interpretations of Italianate/English scenes. The content is bonkers. In the background is a scene reminiscent of Da Vinci (not Dan Brown) in the middle ground is a charming rustic scene complete with a couple shaking hands. The foreground is a cornucopia. We have a strange chap in a hat and poncho waving a stout stick whilst immediately in front of him is what appears to be a bare footed female imitating the animals which are being driven towards the water. To the right of the eejit with the stick is what, at first glance, appears to be a penguin, but may in fact be a tame cormorant used for fishing(Chinese influence). Further right, trying desperately hard to ignore the two nutters with the tame penguin is a semi-naked muse trying to dry her fingernails. It's all very pretty, if slightly implausible. I wonder what the merchants who first imported the designs centuries ago thought when they opened the first pack.

E-Bay, Circa 1750. "How the hell do we return this lot!"


It is such a shame there is no way to write in the Doric with the inflection and humour inherent in the speech patterns.

Compo and Clegg alias Jimmy Simpson and my tattered self were walking across the golf course on the Ythan estuary, it was early in the year and cold. The golfing types were taking life very seriously, lots of club covers, mittens to protect their paws in between strokes, massive arse wiggling prior to smacking a tiny white projectile into nothingness. The course was not laid out for the enjoyment of any old hacker. The gorse bushes were so thick that they had become impenetrable, except to my dog Boots, who would be sent in to collect balls. She would come back with her cheeks swollen like a squirrels.

Jimmy and I stopped to observe the habits of the golfers. Much arm flexing, swinging of clubs, setting up of balls on tees, the whole thing is a very complex ritual, understood by few but observed in most parts of these islands. Inevitably one of the foursome we were watching drove his projectile into the densest part of the whims. Jimmy murmured, "This should be interesting." Of course he had me hooked instantly, I had by now learned to bide my time, so I did and followed his lead. We did nothing.

The foursome strode purposely towards the area of whims, each then set down their clubs, withdrew what they considered an appropriate weapon and started hooking away at the whims, one or two were less enthusiastic about this than the other pair who were building to a frenzy. At this point Jimmy turned to me and said, "I've never seen it this early before."
I bit. "Pardon."
"Well it's only March but they're nesting."